Care
by SomecallmeMichelle
Summary: Thought it may not appear so, Decim does care. To assure otherwise would be to pull the wool over one's own eyes.


Throughout the stages of life few things remain constant. It is the nature of life, it is unexpected. Disagreements are common, ideas change, and ideals are fought for and lost. Yet one thing remains constant. The concept of an arbiter.

They exist in all the forms, and in all the situations one might find his or herself. They hold total authority, their decisions not to be questioned by those affected by it. They are the judges to the criminals, the referees to the athlete, and the leaders to the common man. They are the doctors to the sick, the psychiatrists to the mentally ill, and the teachers to the students. Is it any wonder that concept is pushed to the next life?

Decim's hand move mechanically over the piece of the set. The glass cup he holds in his hand is clean, has been for hours and yet he repeats the motion. Through the memories of thousands if not millions he has come to realise that the position he occupies is not unique, far from it. He is also aware that people in his position are often seen as unjust. Nothing could be further from the truth.

It's a thought that displeases him, though he does not express it in any manner except the strength and speed with which he rubs the lip marks of the side of the glass. If he's honest with himself the task he currently performs isn't of the most utmost importance. Really it is not like any of his guests ever get the chance to drink is there?

But the marks on the glass from the few who do drink - companions in his work, though not really friends - Are to be cleaned, while none of the ones who come for judgement have ever drunk, he still wishes to present the image of professionality.

As an arbiter of course, he could be forgiven for not presenting his best. His role is to scare - to make fear rule in their heart so as for them to reveal their ultimate fates. Through their hands, and their hands alones will they go to "Heaven" or "Hell", the names some came up with, and which he - for simplicity sake - uses.

Decim, however, always presents the best figure he can. It's the always clean apron and the impeccably buttoned up shirt. It's the hair that while it can't, in good consciousness be described as tidy, is still styled in a way such as to present an image of care. It's the way his eyes shine with what he perceives to be kindness, and he pushes to show the teeth, perfect and white. In a way he has an advantage over the common human that ends up in front of him. He never had to brush them.

The mime act, the copying of the actions of others has come as a tool of the trade. He finds that the ones who do end up there, whether their lives were fulfilled completely, happy until an accident or mishap took them, or those whose lives were cut short, react well to the human figure. Or, at least, what they perceive to be human. Decim has no feelings, such a sacrifice, some might even say flaw - is necessary for him to perform his job. What good is a judge if he's partial? If he can be affected by things such as sorrow, grief, or rage?

No, better to keep the Arbiter, Decim, as hollow and devoid of feelings as possible. The fact that Decim has come to realise that his job and duty are mirrored a thousand times through a person's life does little to dispel it. Like the chains he can bring on command, to deter, or to punish, he is tied up.

There is to be no doubt, however, that Decim enjoys what he does. Though it is in his nature, in his obligations to see others in pain, to see the very worst of humanity - murderous thoughts, ,lust for the oblivious, the desire to harm - and to remind those others of what they once were, and what they may yet be, that has not hindered the performance of his work. Much as some do crack or are unable to contain their feelings.

Decim has lost count of how many times his buttoned up shirt has been used as a literal crying shoulder, something for someone to vent their fears and frustrations. There is a singular moment that Decim finds quite fascinating. It is his job to help those who have departed from the physical world relive, through memory, their death. And yet Decim has yet to run into all the different reactions one can have to that reveal. Tears, screams, and even bliss have all passed through that room, through his bar, through the Quindecim. And if he ever had memories - If he somehow has ended there but been chosen for the job, then those are long gone.

Decim doesn't wonder how he would have reacted, or the morality of what he does. Though it is his job to judge - to probe at their memories until they ultimately seal their own fate he doesn't do so out of a set of guidelines, or a moral compass. Decim doesn't feel contempt for the vilest of murderers, as he doesn't feel grief for the most innocent of victims.

In his job, he has seen both. Many a time, in fact. Though most of those who end up there are simply common folks whose string ran out. Like the myth of the Fates. Perhaps there is something to it, Decim decides, as he judges yet once more.

But if so, they are mistaken in one aspect. The ultimate fate of one's soul - as well as when it ends not up to him, he isn't that kind of Arbiter. Rather they are defined by what the person does.

Choices, ideas, feelings, decisions. Those all influence the when and the how. They say that hell has a waiting list. That heaven has a very nice waiting room.

They are mistaken. Though most pass on, if one has to wait, they might just end in front of a bartender, someone who doesn't drink or allow them to be poured, but presents himself as formal. Someone who has no feelings and yet attempts to be human to make the deceased comfortable.

Decim has the job to arbitrate, to be the one to make the ultimate decision. But let not bad mouth run the reader into error.

Decim doesn't feel, that he is incapable of. But there is one thing that Decim does do, something that can be had as a certainty.

Decim does care.

 **Total word Length (g-docs count) : 1116**

 **Author's notes: At the time I wrote this story I have only watched the four first episodes of Death Parade, so if any of the information in display is contradicted in later episodes, do forgive me. I used to write for and about anime a lot. In other accounts it was all that filled my pages. So when the imagination was taken after four episodes, I just had to stop the viewing to write this.**

 **With that said if you enjoyed it, please review. Thank you.**


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